A Second Chance at Redemption
by Lorna Badeau
Summary: What if Heathcliff hadn't left that night Cathy was fated to die? My take on the most wonderful love story ever written. Updated!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This would be my first Wuthering Heights story

**A/N: This would be my first Wuthering Heights story. This book is just so fantastic, but so melancholy, that it drives me nuts. I won't explain how it makes me feel here, because no one really cares. But this is the take I have for it, and how it could have also been. Here goes! I do not own this beautiful characters, and my first couple lines are going to be directly from the book (but I omitted just a little bit, because I didn't want to take too much from the book. I stop the quotes at 'alarmed intruder'.) But asides from that, much of it will be made by me.**

_"I must go, Cathy. But, if I live, I'll see you again before you are asleep. I won't stray five yards from your window."_

_"You must not go! You shall not, I tell you."_

_"For one hour."_

_"Not for one minute."_

_"I must- Linton will be up immediately," persisted the alarmed intruder._ Had she let go of him, and not quite so fierce about his exit, he would have fled the sight immediately, keeping true to his promise and not wander away from the window for a moment. But she held fast to him, and he dared not pry himself from her, and damage her heart further; he would just have to wait and see what that lamb, Linton could say.

"Ah-too late, Heathcliff, he is already quickening his paces up the stairs. Go-go right away, and leave Cathy. You do not –and did not, bode well, upon your coming here. Hearken away from here this instant," Mrs. Dean implored of the man.

"By the devil –oh, stop _your_ wincing, I cannot leave her. Look, look at her, see how she is. She gets worse after I leave. And you all, letting her alone to think on it, giving her solitude from the only thing she wants."

"She has everything she could ever dream of."

"Then she does not dream of me." Mrs. Dean looked at Heathcliff with a calm fury. How dare he think that? Her head quickly turned at the sound of the latch on the door; Linton had arrived, coming to see Mrs. Linton, would in turn see Heathcliff.

On opening the door, Edgar Linton ran over to where Cathy was, but saw Heathcliff.

"What in damnation are you doing here? Go, and leave Catherine be. She needs not see you –ever, for you make her ill." Linton began saying, to Heathcliff astonished face.

"_I!_ I make her ill! Why, it's you lot, all of _you_ who worsen her condition, and tell her falsehoods of me," he said, looking back towards Cathy. "Look, she does not care for any of you. It's I whom she cares for."

"She is not in her right state of mind, sir. She is not fit to stand up, had she the ability." Mrs. Dean said.

"Oh, I beseech you Ellen, you know that Cathy, could never in all her days, truly and fully love this lamb," he gesticulated vehemently towards Linton, "with as much love that she has encompassed for me," and Mrs. Dean's sigh resonated through the deathly silent room.

"Oh, Mr. Linton, as much as I dearly abhor Mr. Heathcliff's promotion, I do agree –she would be much happier is Mr. Heathcliff were to stay for a little while until Cathy becomes better again." Edgar Linton cast his head down, and refused to meet anyone's eyes; he despised this man for his worth, and knew deep inside, that Catherine loved the brute more than himself.

"Heathcliff," Cathy's small, quiet voice called out to him, waking him from his fretful dream; after which he looked around, saw Catherine, and let out a reassured sigh. "Heathcliff, do come by me," she repeated, a little louder yet.

He walked over and sat by her bed, holding her small, pale hand.

"Yes, Cathy? My dear, dear Cathy?" she sent him a tiny, but warm smile.

"Tell me about the Heights. How was it been? I wish to feel the cool air of the moors about me, and be upon the openness of it all, but every time I ask of Ellen to open the window, she beleaguers me, and tells me it will make me ill. Is it still the same? And that withered lone tree, is it still standing?"

"Hush, hush now Cathy. Wait, and I will tell you all," he said as he rose with intending to open her large window. He opened the latch, and threw open the windows. The cool air from the moor swept into the room, and settled in, rustling the covers and drapes gently.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much. I haven't felt it in the longest time."

He made no reply, and sighed.

"You cannot see the Heights from here; how did you bear it?"

"I could not –still, I cannot. Do come back over here," he walked over, looking around the room with earnest. "Some times, in my time of worst, I would pretend –sometimes, I was not pretending; just really seeing, Wuthering Heights. Oh how I long to be up, and to be well again to ride horses and walk; all about the moors. Oh, it breaks my heart."

"Sh, lay back Cathy. The Heights are unchanged, with scarce more than a few sheep, and one less servant. The winds still blow, same as ever, and the lone tree stands. The bouts of heath about the Heights are still there, and Zillah stays."

She looked unsatisfied, and noted a mask of feigned calm reassurance upon his face; what was he hiding? What secrets could he _have_ to hide?

"But, is there not much else? Is there not more of which you could speak about; tell me about?"

"Not as much as you would hope."

"How so?" the invalid girl replied weakly.

"Hindley," he said with a detectable vigor in his voice. "I detest him, as he does to me, and the entire house is clouded with unhappiness. You would come to detest me too, if you were to see my actions."

"I could never detest you Heathcliff. How could I hate my soul? It is unthinkable. Where are you going –please don't leave!"

"I am going outside, I need my air too."

"Then stand near the window, I could not bear for you to leave."

"I am not arguing with you again –let me go. I cannot be in this infernal room much longer." pleaded the man.

"Then take me with you," she said, begged. He looked at her imploring him with her soulful eyes. He turned back to the window touching the soft curtains as he spoke.

"Do you really want to come back?"

"Why would I not? And how could you think that I would not want to come and be with my love, my soul?" He was silent, only once darting a careful quick look over his shoulder. He stayed silent again, his breathing shallow and sparse, like a bird freshly caught. "Heathcliff? I wish to go back to the Heights."

"But –I know. I crave for you to be back as well. Except, how would that lamb take it? You'd be gone in an instant if I had anything to say towards it."

"But you _do_, Heathcliff, you do! How, how can you not think, that if for one moment if I were stronger, I would be gone from this place in mere minutes and be with you. Oh, _how_ you have changed, you are not yet the same Heathcliff I knew."

The shadowy man turned his head around, his dark hair falling about his eyes weakly. His eyes gleamed with a fire behind them, his inky look never leaving Catherine's face. She recoiled slightly, pulling up the satin sheets a little tighter.

"You are afraid of me, aren't you? You don't _really_ wish to come back to the Heights. It's only a pallid excuse to be rid of Linton and this place." He growled, the madness in his eyes heightening a bit. He bit his lips, and a bead of blood appeared. He licked it away, his actions fierce and deliberate. "Well then fine. You only break my heart all the more. A few more days won't make a difference. Alas, to you it may," said the dark shadow. His eyes softened as he saw how the poor girl sighed in her bed and closed her eyes. Her head lolled back carefully, and he took a step forwards to peer in her light face. Quite suddenly though, she snapped her eyes open triumphantly.

"A few more days? You do wish to kill me –and I wish to die," her voice fading out to a half whisper that the shadow couldn't hear until he had walked over to her bedside. Oh, she couldn't! She wouldn't! He thought his heart was tearing in two, but he dared not show it on his darkened face. She added as an afterthought, "Would you be happy, and forget me after I die? You'll have parties, I'm sure, and you'll hope that you had never met me, right?"

He went over to her and shook her shoulders roughly, making her head nod wildly.

"Cathy, my Cathy –how could you say that? Never in my wildest dreams would I dare to speak words like those. A life without you is not a life at all. Not even an existence. And even if we were to go to hell, well, I should like to think we would go together."

**A/N: Ok, I understand that this is a horrible place to leave it off, because its like, er, that's in the middle of a conversation. But its not. I've been working on this chapter for a very, very long time, and this next one may take just as long. So, please be patient, and I hope you liked it! Constructive criticism taken with pleasure.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Ok, so here I go. Sorry about the wait. It's hard because I want it to make sense, and sound at least a litttttttttleeeee like Bronte's words. It also takes a little while for me to get the different way of writing, so the first bits are always very un-Bronte sounding. Sorry. I can't just jump into the story like I always do. So I hope that waiting was worth it! *makes hopeful face***

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The night had been horrid, taking an eternity to pass even a few minutes. Sleep evaded both Heathcliff and Cathy, the former all the more cross for it. He stood, preventing himself from yawning as he saw Nelly Dean ambling over. Her gait was not quite dignified –she was too homely for that –but she carried herself with all the pride she could muster. She greeting him coldly, as if they had never known each other; in truth, had Nelly the chance she would choose to never have met him in her lifetime. He blinked, once, twice. If he had taken anymore time to respond one might think he were simple as a dog. As if an afterthought, he proceeded.

"Mrs. Dean, would you be so kind as to take this note to Cathy?" Heathcliff asked, the smirk on his face his only form of expression. He hoped the lady would take it to Cathy, though she disliked him. He held it loosely in his hand, holding it from a corner as if it was something to be detested.

"Of course. Unlike _some_, I am a kind person."

"Oh, I could not be so sure of that were you, Mrs. Dean." The look she sent over her shoulder was enough to wilt the clumps of heath by the Heights. He merely smiled back at the lady, never letting the smile reach his eyes, leaving them cold and hard. Ellen Dean shuddered and quickened her step opting to be away from the great shadow.

She knocked on the door, lightly. She closed her eyes in a quick prayer; perhaps Mrs. Linton would have nothing to do with the brute.

"Come in," a weak voice answered. Ellen stepped in, instinctively placing her arms around her thin frame, not noticing that she dropped the letter from Heathcliff.

"It's so cold in here Cathy –oh! The window! _Why_ is it open, you'll catch the chills again. We don't want that now, do we?" She positively ran towards the window, closing it with such vigor that a pane slightly cracked.

"No, but did Hea –"

"Come now, put this throw over your shoulder," the lady said, hurrying over to a blanket placed on a red couch. Picking it up, she started to talk, her words rarely ceasing.

"Now, I hope you had a nice night madam?"

"Of course, did Heath –"

"Certainly the window _was_ closed all night?" She gingerly put the blanket over the upright form of Catherine, who had donned a very bothered face.

"No, I left it open in case –"

"Goodness, may the good Lord impede my heart. Why on earth would you leave it open! You are going to catch quite a cold one of these days. And the baby! We don't want _it_ sick now as well, do we?" said she, muttering to herself as she walked closer to the door. The girl was mad, trying to kill herself for sure. "I'm going to get you some nice hot breakfast and tea, Mrs. Linton."

"You _can_ call me Catherine." She called out after the receding shadow of Ellen. She leaned back on her pillows, content that the housekeeper had left, but with a heavy heart was saddened that Heathcliff had not asked for her.

"Heathcliff, you break my heart. If I die today, you'd not know how much I love you –need you. Come save me from this place."

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The dark man paced the floor waiting, always waiting. What was keeping her so long? What would Cathy say? He saw Mrs. Dean, ever the fiend, and hastened his way over to her. He grabbed her shoulders in a similar way like he did earlier to his Cathy.

"What did she say?" When he got no answer he started to climb the steps, three at a time, but Ellen stopped him.

"You shan't bother her Heathcliff. She left her window open last night, but for how long she didn't tell me; I hope she hasn't caught her chills again, she just got better. She didn't say much, she certainly didn't ask about anyone, not even me." She said, tilting her head in remembrance. He coiled back, and stepped back down. Not dangerously, but slowly, deliberately.

"Honestly? No one at all? Not even I?" She shook her head. "Impossible."

Ellen's eyes widened as she remembered the note –she had forgotten to hand it to her. It was too late to tell though, and she could not possibly tell the great shadow that she had forgotten. He caught the change in the housekeeper's eyes; something was amiss. He grabbed her shoulders, and held her firmly, looking her straight in the face.

"You haven't done anything terrible have you?"

"Nothing you wouldn't have done, Mr. Heathcliff." He was not quite sure how to interpret her meaning, although he thought of terrible things she could have done, some of which were too terrible for his complicated mind to take. He let go of her with a heart wrenching shudder, and sat heavily on the steps. He was quite comparable, at this moment, to a dog with his tail in-between his legs. After a moment he groaned out from behind his hands, with which he had hidden his face, and stated:

"You've done her in, haven't you? Poisoned her tea perhaps? Stabbed her now, is that right? Or perhaps thrown her out the window; seems to be all the rage now over in Liverpool. But you might also have –"

"Stop it, Mr. Heathcliff. I'll have none of this nonsense," she bit her lip, contemplating if her next action would be acceptable. "Come on then, I'll take you to see her yourself. I wouldn't be so cruel as to show her to you dead now, would I?"

Heathcliff said nothing and was mellow. His face had a look of indifference, cold, almost as if there was not a thought of any importance in his dark head. She turned around and walked away the same way she came, ambling in a way that was so characteristically Nelly. She stopped after she did not hear Heathcliff's quiet footsteps behind her.

"Well, come on then."

He followed without a word and did not look up around him or take in any of his surroundings. His only thought now –though one couldn't tell –was of Cathy. The pain he had to endure because of her, so immense it almost outweighed the vast joy she caused him.

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**A/N: Oh dear, I must must must stop here, or else I will shoot the chapter into horrid little pieces. I'm liking my direction of the story, but I have a few possible paths I can take this by. Good Lord. If you have any questions, or and plot things you might like to see, please do tell me, and I could fit it in (also because I always draw a blank).**

**Was this chapter ok? I took forever in getting this up, I think that it has been a few months, but I am trying to update a few of my stories! But I wouldn't be on the edge of my seat just yet, and I am notoriously slow at doing even the fastest tasks slowly.**

**A tout de suite!**

**-Lorna Badeau**


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